SECOND TOAD
That superannuated tenor quavering out his cavatinas to the glory of
minor poetry and the edification of fogydom!

THIRD TOAD
The Harp that twanged through Tara’s hall, and insists on twanging
still!

CHANTECLER
[Indulgently.] But why should he not, after all, if he enjoys it?

THE BIG TOAD
Endeavouring to impose on a suffering and surfeited public the musty old
fashion of ingenious fioritura!

CHANTECLER
Audiences nowadays, of course, look for a different sort of thing.

THIRD TOAD
Your song has exposed the artificiality of his.

ALL
[In an explosion.] Down with Bul-bul!

CHANTECLER
[Whom the TOADS have gradually surrounded.] Gentlemen and honored
Batrachians, my voice, it is true, gives forth natural notes—­

THE BIG TOAD
Yes, notes which lend us wings—­

CHANTECLER
[Modestly.] Oh!

ALL
[Waggling their bodies as if about to fly.] Wings!

THE BIG TOAD
Their secret being that they sing Life!

CHANTECLER
That is true.

SECOND TOAD
Yes, my dear fellow, Life!

CHANTECLER
[With careless complacency.] My crest for that reason is flesh and blood!

ALL THE TOADS
[Clapping their little hands.] Good, very good!

THE BIG TOAD
That formula is a programme.

SECOND TOAD
Since we are assembled around a table, why should we not offer to the
Chief—­

CHANTECLER
[Modestly, hanging back from the suggested honour.]Gentlemen—­

SECOND TOAD
—­to the Chief of whom we stood in notable need, a banquet?

ALL
[Beating enthusiastically upon the toadstool.] A banquet!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Looking out from the tree.] What is the matter?

CHANTECLER
[In spite of all, rather flattered.] A banquet!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Slightly ironical.] Shall you accept?

CHANTECLER You see, my dear—­the new tendencies—­Art,—­the thinking contingency of the Forest—­[Indicating the TOADS.] Yes, I have lent wings to—­[In a light and careless tone.] It’s all up with the Nightingale, you see.  Musty old method!  Antiquated trill!  This is the way he goes on—­[To the TOADS.] How was it you said he went on?

ALL THE TOADS
[Comically.] Tio!  Tio!

CHANTECLER [To the PHEASANT-HEN, with pitying indulgence.] He goes on like this:  Tio!  Tio!  And I believe I need not scruple to accept—­

A VOICE [In the tree above him breaks forth in a long note, limpid, and heart-moving.] Tio! [Silence.]

CHANTECLER
[Startled, raising his head.] What was that?

THE BIG TOAD
[Quickly, visibly embarrassed.] Nothing!  It is he!